The Other
by Nizuno Mikomi
Summary: Join me in my little world o' make-believe. What if Kenshin wasn't the only high-level assassin working for the Ishin gov't? And what if, years later, another hitokiri resurfaced looking for our favorite rurouni? Later chapters may be higher rating.
1. Default Chapter

Kon'nichi wa, my loyal friends! At last, I return with something new: the story of my namesake, Nizûno Mikomi. She is, so far, the only OC I've created from the series Rurouni Kenshin, and she's by far my favorite, hence the fact that her name is my pen name.

This story is going to be long and involved, and will probably end up being an arc that covers three different periods of time: before the series, one point during the series, and perhaps after the series. That is, if I can figure out exactly how I want this to go.

Anyway, R&R, let me know if ya love her, hate her, if you're indifferent, whatever. Any questions about Mikomi's past not addressed in the note at the end of this chapter can be emailed to me: Criket427@aol.com. Ja!

  
  


The Other

By: Nizûno Mikomi

  
  


Chapter One - A Meeting of Minds . . . Sort Of

It was late in the afternoon of a day like most others. An unseen bird twittered away in a treetop. Fluffy white clouds drifted idly across a clear blue sky. A lazy sunbeam roamed over the earth, illuminating the puffs of dust kicked up by Himura Kenshin's worn sandals. The purple-eyed man paused a moment as an airborne leaf snagged on one of his brown socks and he bent to remove it.

*Such a quiet day,* he said to himself. 

*TOO quiet,* his battle instinct was quick to add. Kenshin shook his mane of fiery red hair and shifted his grip on the strings of the canvas duffel slung over one slender shoulder. No, there was no immediate danger here. No waiting booby traps in the road, no soldiers hiding in the brush, preparing to ambush a short guy in a magenta gi. Kenshin picked at the well-worn material of one brightly colored sleeve, pert nose wrinkling slightly.

*Of all the colors to dye a gi so that the bloodstains wouldn't show . . . . * he thought ruefully, *This has got to be the worst.* The sound of boots scraping against dirt tore his attention away from his clothing and back to the present. The road ahead was empty, save for a black-cloaked figure he could have sworn wasn't there a second ago.

"H-Hello?" he called out, disgusted with the nervous tremor in his voice. The figure didn't answer. A chance breeze lifted the edges of the cloak and sent them fluttering around the figure like bat wings. Kenshin swallowed hard. He wasn't even remotely scared, just startled. "Can I help you with something?" Why the hell were his knees knocking all of a sudden? 

"Himura Kenshin?" came a response at last. All he could see was the vaguest outline of a chin and a small slash of a mouth that opened and closed to let the words out.

"Hai, sessha desu, de gozaru." The mouth, or what he could see of it, twisted into a smirk that was somehow both satisfied and alarming. 

"Good."An arm appeared from somewhere within the folds of midnight black and flung a corner of the cloak back over a hip, revealing the unmistakable outlines of a sword. "I've been looking for you."

Kenshin fell back a step, beads of sweat beginning to collect on the back of his neck. "Who . . . who are you?"

*What is going on? Why am I suddenly so spooked?*

"Come now," was the not-quite-chuckled reply. 'Do I really need to spell it out for you." It was not a question, but more a statement made to sound like one. "Don't you think I deserve to know if the rumors were true?"

"Rumors? What rumors, de gozaru ka?" Kenshin's mind raced. What on earth was this creepy-looking guy talking about?

"I just want to know if you're actually as good as they say you used to be . . . Himura Battousai."

Kenshin's stomach turned to ice water and plummeted into the soles of his feet as the black hood was thrown back, revealing a pixie face even more feminine than his own, studded with green eyes too bright to be real. He knew that face . . . .

"Ah, now he gets it!" That smirk again. "Do you know me now?"

"Nizûno Mikomi."

"Aa, you are correct, Battousai. But . . . " A small, secretive smile that made those peridot eyes glint in a frightening manner. " . . . do you REALLY know me?"

Kenshin shook his head, confused. "Sessha is afraid he doesn't understand."

"Well, then . . . I'll show you what I mean."

The infamous black cape slid to the ground in a wave of midnight, revealing Nizûno Mikomi's slender frame. Kenshin's violet eyes widened as they noted certain peculiar physical attributes, curves that no normal man was born with.

Nizûno Mikomi, the most notorious assassin in the Ishinseishi, feared by friend and foe alike, the only person who was ever said to have stood a chance against the Hitokiri Battousai, was a girl.

No, not a girl. A woman. No girl could ever have had such hard, bitter eyes, disillusioned, devoid of all innocence, and cold as ice. Kenshin's brain ran through a few calculations. He had been in his late teens at the end of the Bakamatsu. Mikomi looked to be a few years younger than he. That meant she had only been . . . Kami-sama, eleven or twelve years old when she had become the other Hitokiri.

"Surprise," Mikomi said, enjoying his shock. "I do hope you haven't lost your stomach for this fight, Himura Battousai-san, now that you know you face a woman." She drew her sakabatou, slowly and deliberately turned the blade over, and slid effortlessly into a battle stance. Kenshin recognized it. Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. His heart skipped a beat. He drew his sakabatou, consciously steadying his nerves.

This was no mere play fight between old comrades-in-arms. She was serious, lethally so, and if he made a single mistake, she would not hesitate to kill him. The phrase that had once characterized Nizûno to other samurai echoed in his mind: "Mercy is for those who don't have the stomach to kill."

Dust swirled in the late afternoon sun as the two rurouni faced off. A breeze lifted Mikomi's dark hair in waves of chestnut brown over her shoulders, the only movement in her entire being. Neither samurai moved a muscle, weapons held at the ready, nerves on edge, each waiting for the other to make the first move. 

Kenshin caught Mikomi's eye for a split second, saw the corner of her mouth curl in a mirthless, mocking smile. Then, in a flash, there was only empty air where Mikomi had stood. Kenshin whirled back out of the way as Mikomi brought her sword slicing down from above into the dry ground where the red-haired samurai had been less than a second before. She paused, flicking her long tresses back out of her face. Flashing peridot green eyes met velvety amethyst purple. Kenshin tensed, his hand tightening on the handle of his sakabatou. 

"Commendable," Mikomi said, her voice carrying the same mocking tone as her smile. "You're not as rusty as I thought you might be, Himura Battousai-san." Her mouth twisted in the irritating sardonic grin again. Kenshin gritted his teeth.

"Don't call me that, Nizûno-san," he ground out. "I am no longer the Battousai. I told you that, de gozaru."

"Of course, of course." That mocking tone again, designed to infuriate, and doing a good job of it. "You've forsaken your Hitokiri ways and become a rurouni, protecting people with your sword to atone for your sins." She faced him then, her face as blank as a sheet of rice paper. "But I wonder if the people you save with that sword . . . " She gestured to the sakabatou in his hand. " . . . know that you used it to commit the sins for which you are atoning."

Kenshin's temper flared for a split second. Mikomi saw it as it his eyes flashed amber. He took a step toward her, sakabatou raised, blood singing in his ears. She crouched into a defensive stance, ready for him.

"I have no wish to fight you, Nizûno-san," Kenshin began, taking great care to keep his voice even.

"Hontou ni?" she retorted, arching an eyebrow sardonically. "Do tell that to the vein in your forehead."

"We can still settle this peacefully, de gozaru yo." Kenshin heard himself say the words, knowing they were not true. Mikomi would never back down, considering surrender a display of cowardice, and his patience with her mockery of him was nearing it's end. Quickly. 

"Now, honestly, Himura Battousai-san," Mikomi smiled. "We both know that's impossible. So let's not waste any more time, ne?" 

Before Kenshin had time to think, let alone draw breath to reply, Mikomi came at him again, her own sakabatou flashing in the sun. He defended himself with the fleetness for which he was so well known, dodging and weaving with lightning speed. Mikomi matched him move for move. The lethal music of swordplay filled the stillness of the afternoon air.

Kenshin ducked under Mikomi's swing and brought up his sakabatou to block, when he saw her thigh muscle tense, preparatory to aiming a low, driving kick at his shoulder. He rolled backwards, hands pushing against the dusty ground, up and away, so that he somersaulted back out of range, a handspring landing him on his feet. Mikomi did not waste any time waiting and he scarcely had time to breathe before blocking her next attack and countering with one of his own. Using her own trick against her, his shin met the side of her calf, sweeping her legs out from under her.

Mikomi staggered, her balance thrown off. She tipped to the right. Her sakabatou switched hands so fast Kenshin didn't know it had happened until he saw her empty right hand extend toward the ground and she lifted her body into a graceful one-handed cartwheel that set her back on her feet. She half-turned, so that a few feet separated them, never losing her focus, never deviating from her Budo. A tense silence ensued, the two hitokiri-turned-rurouni facing each other, eyes locked, muscles tensed. Seeds of tension took root and grew, as time seemed to stand still. The pressure built until it seemed the silence itself screamed for release.

With an almost audible snap, Kenshin took one step forward, pushed off the ground, and soared into the air above the female samurai. Her eyes followed him until his silhouette was invisible against the blinding backdrop of the sun. She blinked and dropped her gaze, momentarily disoriented. That was all Kenshin needed. 

"Ryu Tsui Sen, slightly modified!" Landing easily just behind her, he struck her across the shoulders with the blunt edge of his sakabatou. Mikomi's breath left her in a rush and she fell heavily to the ground, barely catching herself in a forward roll, coming to her feet with a great deal more effort than before.

"What's the matter, Nizûno-san?" Kenshin asked, his voice deeper than usual. "Don't tell me you're tiring of this already." Mikomi grinned and spat blood onto the road between them.

"You must be joking," she said hoarsely. "I'm just starting to enjoy this." No sooner had she finished speaking than she was gone again, leaving a hole in the air. Kenshin dodged her first attack, their swords clashing with a shrill ring. The second came out of nowhere, a blow to the backs of his knees that left the violet-eyed rurouni on his back in the dust, with the point of Mikomi's sakabatou at his throat. He lifted his chin, his neck and shoulders rigid, legs bent at the knees, body sprawled. Mikomi stood over him, her eyes gleaming and dangerous.

"How disappointing," she frowned. "Not as good as you were after all. I had rather hoped . . . . " Kenshin didn't wait for her to finish, but swept his foot up to inside of her left thigh, striking with pinpoint accuracy. Mikomi pitched over, landing on her left shoulder as her leg buckled under her. Kenshin was on her in half a heartbeat, his own sakabatou less than an inch from the pulsing veins in her neck. Mikomi froze, their positions suddenly reversed. Kenshin's eyes flashed gold and his mouth tightened, his jaw set. Neither moved for a long moment. Then Mikomi made a harsh sound in her throat that might have been a chuckle.

"Yare yare," she mused. "Perhaps I have misjudged you after all." Kenshin did not laugh, his gaze stony.

"Hai," he answered shortly. "You did." Mikomi's eyes flickered with something that might have been fear. She was not accustomed to losing a fight, even to other experienced samurai. Kenshin, she had sorely underestimated. And now he could take her life without even batting an eye. Except . . . . She smirked inwardly as she saw a way out.

*Battousai, you leave yourself wide open and don't even know it.*

"So, will you kill me now?" she asked aloud. "Forsake your pacifist vows and destroy a fellow hitokiri?" She gave a derisive snort. "The peaceful rurouni indeed." The point of Kenshin's sakabatou making contact with her skin cut her voice short, eliciting instead a sharp intake of breath.

"You're right," Kenshin replied. "I could kill you now, with very little effort." The edge of the blade pressed into her skin a little harder. Mikomi stiffened, waiting for the thrust that would snuff out the candle of her existence once and for all. 

It never came. Instead, Kenshin sheathed his sakabatou and rose to his feet.

"However," he said evenly. "Every life is precious." His eyes, violet again, locked with hers. "Even yours, Nizûno Mikomi." He offered his hand. "And for that reason alone, I would spare you."

Mikomi stared at him, flat on her back in the dust, not understanding. This man, once a deadly assassin, had held her life in his hands, or more precisely, at the point of his sword, having every motivation to take her life, but somehow, against all reason was going to allow her to live. It made no sense whatsoever. Still not comprehending, she accepted the hand he offered and Kenshin pulled her to her feet.

"I don't understand, Himura Ba- . . . Himura-san," she said, consciously abandoning her use of his old nickname, her eyes darkening from peridot to jade as her warrior spirit calmed. Kenshin smiled slightly, noticing the change. "You really aren't the Battousai anymore, are you?" 

"Iie," he replied, smiling more genuinely this time. "And one day, Mikomi-san, maybe you will be able to say the same, de gozaru yo." 

"I fear I may never understand your reasoning, Himura-san." Mikomi shook her head. She walked over to her black cloak, still pooled on the ground like a puddle of ink. She picked it up and shook the dust out of the folds of cloths, creating a small cloud. Whirling the cloak around over her shoulders, she faced Kenshin once more and sheathed her sakabatou. "But perhaps the next time we meet, it will not be over crossed swords." A smile, a respectful nodd, and she turned and strode down the road, away from Tokyo. Kenshin stood looking after her for a long moment before speaking.

"Oi, Mikomi-san." Mikomi stopped and half-turned.

"Nan da?"

"Do you have a place to stay tonight, de gozaru ka?" This question earned him a raised eyebrow and a stern look. "Is that a 'no'?"

Mikomi stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly, almost reluctantly, began to laugh. Not quite seeing what was so funny, but caught up just the same, Kenshin joined her. After several minutes of this, Mikomi quieted, wiping her brilliant green eyes.

"I said before I would never understand your reasoning, Himura-san," she said, a trifle breathlessly. "But now I can safely say that you yourself are a complete enigma!" Kenshin frowned slightly.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, de gozaru," he said. Mikomi shook her head.

"You barely know me, except by my reputation, which is hardly honorable, and not five minutes ago, I was quite earnestly trying to kill you . . . " She shook her head again, in disbelief. "And now, you invite me to your home? Did you suffer a blow to the head recently, Himura-san? One that didn't come from me?"

"Iie," Kenshin replied honestly. "Just trying to show a little common courtesy to a fellow rurouni, de gozaru yo." Mikomi paused a moment, regarding him with an unreadable expression. Finally, she nodded.

"Yoush. I accept."

  
  


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And so the saga begins! I already have another chapter in the works, but I need lots and lots of support before I'll start posting more of this story, mostly 'cause I think it still needs a lotta work. I mean, this draft alone was revised twice and totally rewritten once. So please R&R and give this poor tired exasperated college student something to do with her Saturday mornings besides watch cartoons. 

(-.-; Yes, I still watch Saturday morning cartoons. I'm a big kid. So what.)

(Also, I knew when I started that this whole damned scenario is completely bonkers, but bear with me. Why throw away an opportunity to write a story including drama, angst, random violence, and eventually a rather interesting lemon? That's what I thought, anyway . . . . -.-;)

  
  
  


[NOTE] As promised, the note. Mikomi has had a very difficult existence thus far. She was abandoned as a child at the age of seven and left to fend for herself. She came across a military encampment almost by mistake and the army decided to pick her up as a slave, since she had no family to speak of. From there, she grew up learning sword techniques and various fighting styles from other soldiers and the occasional prisoner of war. One of those prisoners happened to know Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. (Not Seijuuro Hiko, for those who are wondering. I'm still debating on whether or not I want to bring him into this story. He's such a difficult character to write for.) So, incidentally, Mikomi has the same jutsu as Kenshin. She also knows bits and pieces of just about every other jutsu there is, and I mean EVERY. You name it, she knows it or knows of it. 

Eventually, at the age of twelve, she was asked by certain high-ranking officials, who will remain unnamed, to serve as an assassin for the Ishin government. Not knowing what else to do, Mikomi accepted. From then on, she made a habit of dressing like a boy, because let's face it, what seasoned warrior would be afraid of a little girl? She developed slowly and remained very slender, so binding her chest didn't become a problem until she was about twenty. (When she meets Kenshin for the first time, she's about twenty-one.) Unfortunately, the bindings made it very difficult to breath, which led to an almost-fatal wounding in some random battle in Kyoto, in which her commanding officer was killed and Mikomi herself went missing. The government pinned the blame of the commander's death on the missing hitokiri and a bounty was placed on her head. After a few days spent hiding and recuperating, Mikomi left the Ishin ranks for good and became a fugitive. From there, her trail becomes murky until she meets a certain red-haired rurouni on a dirt road just outside of Aizu.


	2. Tea

Nihao, minna-san! At the risk of posting something . . . er, incomplete . . . . *Mik-chan's muse gives her a whack upside the head* . . . and at the request of SAGE-sama . . . *bows reverently* . . . I present to you the second chapter of "The Other." 

Mind you, IT'S NOT DONE YET! More Mikomi/Kenshin-ness is forthcoming and the lemon . . . well, that's a LONG way off right now.

This chapter gives us a closer look at Mikomi's character. And BOY, is she VIOLENT!

  
  


While I'm thinking about it, I'd like to respond to a particularly poignant review from chapter one, submitted by UrielFallen:

"Good story.   
One minor nitpick:   
...How does anyone know Hiten Mitsurugi that wasn't taught by Hiko Seijiro? There's always only 1 teacher and 1 student, at most."

Good point. The truth is, I didn't even think about that until after I posted the first chapter and I kinda went, "Oh, CRAP! ." Anyway, let me just say this: HMR isn't Mikomi's primary jutsu. In fact, she doesn even HAVE a primary jutsu. She uses bits and pieces from many different styles, which is part of what makes her so effective . . . and dangerous. So, let's just assume that one of the people passing through her camp knew something about Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu and passed it on to her. Otherwise, we'll be nit-picking from now till Judgement Day.

Another thing to note: the sakabatou Mikomi was using in the original version of chapter one has been revised to be a katana, after I considered the odds against her having such a weapon. Not very good, let me tell you what. So, we'll just pretend I didn't screw that up, ne? ^.^;

Special thanks to UrielFallen for the above review and to SAGE for demanding that I post this next chapter, in not so many words. ^.^

  
  


The Other

By: Nizuno Mikomi

  
  


Chapter Two - Tea

  
  


[Later that evening . . . . ]

"And so, since I hadn't thought to leave my clothes in a more convenient place, and I couldn't very well walk out naked and demand them back, I ended up walking the two miles back to camp in my birthday suit," Mikomi finished, wrapping her cloak a bit tighter around her shoulders to ward off the encroaching chill of nightfall.

"Kimi wa honki, de gozaru ka?" Kenshin asked incredulously.

"Yes, quite," she replied. "Although, I must say, while it's not one of my favorite memories, it certainly is entertaining."

"Agreed, de gozaru," Kenshin grinned, taking a sip of his tea. The two of them had been sitting on the porch of the inn where Kenshin was staying for Kami-sama only knew how long, talking and trading stories. To the casual observer, the two samurai, laughing and joking and sipping tea together, would have resembled nothing more than old friends, reunited after many years, catching up on old times. One would never have guessed that barely hours before, each had been on the verge of killing the other. 

Kenshin wasn't particularly worried about the lateness of the hour. And Mikomi certainly had some interesting yarns to spin. He glanced over at the dark-haired samurai, examining what could be seen of her profile in the wan light of the single lantern overhead.

Mikomi was an unusual-looking woman. Not that she was unattractive. Just the opposite in fact. Her bronzed skin spoke of the years she had spent living as a rurouni, mostly outdoors. Her high cheekbones and pixie chin offset the determined set of her lips and the strange, chilling fire that always seemed to be smouldering somewhere in the labyrinth behind those incredibly green eyes. Earlier, during their fight, her face had been stony, harsh, colder than anything he had ever seen. 

Now, however, her expression had softened, her eyes warmer, her features relaxed. There was a whimsical curve to one side of her mouth that could very easily be called a smile. Kenshin was given the impression that he was seeing the Mikomi behind the dangerous mask she showed the rest of the world. And he was grateful.

"Shabereyo," Mikomi said, breaking the silence. "Your turn, Himu- . . . . " She broke off, unexpectedly, her face transforming back into that mask, her eyes piercing the darkness around them. Kenshin peered about, but saw nothing.

"What is it?" he inquired. "Go-tassha, de gozaru ka?" Mikomi silenced him with a wave of her hand. She stared out into the night a moment longer, the silence becoming almost deafening, before climbing quickly to her feet. In one smooth motion, she tossed the cloak over her shoulders, freeing her arms, and stood scanning the darkened courtyard, one slim capable hand resting on the hilt of her katana. Her nose twitched; if he hadn't known better, Kenshin would have thought she was sniffing the air. Scrambling up beside her, sword also bared, Kenshin watched, listened, trying desperately to understand what it was that Mikomi knew that he did not.

He did not have long to wait. A twig snapped somewhere close by and before the echo had faded, Mikomi's hand closed around his elbow in an iron grip with a single word. "Run." Then she took off, dragging him along with her. Kenshin managed to get his feet back on the ground and he raced along behind Mikomi, following the black spread of her cape. For a time, the only reality was the pounding of their feet on the hard-packed ground.

Suddenly, Mikomi stopped short, and turned, her sakabatou in hand before Kenshin knew she had reached for it. He followed suit and they stood still and silent for a moment, staring into the darkness.

"Mikomi-san, nan da, de gozaru ka?" he whispered. Before Mikomi could answer, a shuriken sailed through the air, heading straight for her. The jade-eyed rurouni bent backwards, tilting her chin up, and the throwing star missed her throat by less than an inch. Masked figures materialized out of the deepening night and the two samurai faced their foes, back to back, swords drawn and ready.

"Kill them." 

The ninjas leaped into action, but Kenshin and Mikomi were two steps and several flesh wounds ahead of them, already in motion, bodies moving in perfect synchronization with their weapons, so that the sakabatou became an extension of the warrior, as it should be. A split second passed and five men fell beneath Mikomi's sword, red fountains gurgling from their bodies. Kenshin dispatched his own opponents without killing them, something Mikomi apparently did not take much stock in. They glanced at each other briefly. Kenshin saw Mikomi's eyes turn from warm, amiable jade to cold, lethal peridot as she flexed her fingers on the handle of her sakabatou. 

"Every so often, Himura-san," she said, her voice low and chilling. "There are times when even a rurouni must kill." Circled by her assailants, she coiled her leg muscles for a jump. "And now is one of those times." She spun quickly, then leaped high into the air above everyone's head, silhouetted against the cold autumn moon for a moment before dropping gracefully back to earth, black cape billowing. A short spray of blood and a few brief gurgling cries and her attackers collapsed, their throats sliced clean across. Kenshin felt the Battousai stir deep within his soul, where he thought he had buried it for good.

*Mikomi . . . she's not just any warrior,* he thought, suddenly uneasy as another brief splash of crimson threatened to drench his feet. *She's . . . she's . . . almost . . . EVIL . . . . *

The few remaining hired killers dispersed, carrying their wounded with them. Over half their force lay dead or dying on the frost-tinged grass between the two samurai. Her gruesome work finished, Mikomi sheathed her sword and turned back to Kenshin, who stared at her with mingled horror and revulsion.

"Something wrong, Himura?" she asked, her voice as cold and emotionless as the jewels her eyes now resembled. Kenshin looked down at the bodies strewn at her feet and fought down a wave of nausea.

"You . . . you killed them," he choked out. "How . . . ?"

"Simple," was her chillingly straightforward reply. "It was either let them kill me or defend myself. And I don't know about you, but I've grown rather attached to living."

  
  


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Gomen nasai, minna, bu that's all I have for right now. More to come! R&R please.


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